Poem: “Thirteenth Station”


Thirteenth Station
Good Friday

He’s dead? Already?
I was sure he would remain,
A living human stain,
Hanging up there, he should have been good
For another few hours of gory food.
I cannot believe this news.
You are sure? You saw it too?
Do what you will. Take him down.
Let him be buried or thrown
Out. Get rid of the body. I see
Nothing more to this man’s story.
He’s dead and gone,
He’s dead and gone.

Matthew B. Rose


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